


This Side of Augmented Paradise

by fresne



Series: Voyages of the Bakerstreet [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Multi, Non-canonical character miscarriage, Omega John, Other, Sex Pollen, Sex Toys, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 11:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15411483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: Still reeling from their exposure to polywater, the crew of the Bakerstreet investigate a century old mystery. A colony that theoretically succumbed to deadly Berthold radiation.Except the settlers descendants are still alive. If living the totally tubular pollinated life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ST:OS. "This Side of Paradise" The source of so many sex pollen stories. Taken 100 years later, because ST:OS never got splooged by pollen in this verse.

Cassie like totally lived the perfect life. So like totally bodacious perfect.

When the weather was good, there was outdoor fucking and when it wasn't, there was indoor fucking.

Then she broke her fucking leg. Fucking thing. She lay there in the dirt screaming. Looked around and realized that she was hungry. In pain. Living her life scrabbling from meal to meal. Never enough to eat. She looked at her granddaughter, her precious baby's little girl. Pregnant again from who knew. "Baby girl, we've got to get off this planet. We need to contact the Federation, if it still exists."

Her granddaughter said, "I know what you need."

Cassie struggled. She didn't want to go back to the way she'd been. Thinking her life was perfect. She screamed in pain as they lifted her. Touched her broken leg. Waves of pain that crashed over her. But there were too many of them.

They took her to the field. To the fucking flowers.

After that it was all cool.

All cool.

Perfect.


	2. Sherlock POV

Sherlock was careful not to sit on the couch next to John. But on the low bench opposite him. He'd done an extensive study of perceptions of personal space. He was lacking information for John's particular social sphere. However, he felt that he could extrapolate from an analysis of Federation Human social norms. 

He desperately wanted to pace.

He wanted Watson to finish his breakfast, or possibly continue eating his breakfast until time ended. As it happened, Sherlock now how a method to at least keep looping them in the same general point in time.

Watson looked at Sherlock's pastry. "Are you going to eat that?"

"I'm not hungry." However, Sherlock shredded the pastry so that it would appear somewhat eaten. Or mauled. More mauled than eaten perhaps.

Watson scrapped his spoon in his bowl and pushed it away from him. "Okay, I'm done."

Sherlock leapt up, glad for an excuse to move. "I'll dispose of those." He put the plates in the replicator, which dematerialized them back into energy. This unfortunately left him standing rather close to Watson, which was not the plan. The plan was to clearly articulate that Watson's career and safety were assured under…with…near…in proximity to Sherlock.

"Oh, sit down you giant tit."

Sherlock sat down on the small couch next to him.

Watson said, "So, we've shared two heats."

"Which was absolutely not my intention. As I've said, I am married to my work and I have utmost respect for your tenacity…"

Watson held up his hand in front of Sherlock. "You'll have your turn. I'm talking now."

Sherlock scowled. This was not fair. He should have a chance to convince Watson to stay.

"So, as I was saying, Holmes… actually, I feel ridiculous calling you by your last name under the circumstances," his eyes darted to the bed. _High probability he was thinking of the things they'd done in Sherlock's bed._ He inhaled preparing to present his arguments, but Watson again held his hand palm out.

"Here, or in other private spaces, I'm going to call you Sherlock and you can call me John." Nod if you understand.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Of course, a moron would understand. Then the implications of that statement blossomed and he grinned against John's hand, who pulled it back as if burned. "Yeah, you figured out I'm not leaving. You're brilliant. Amazing. I really would be an idiot if I left because of," he waved a hand encompassing the two of them, "biology."

Sherlock grinned at John.

John who was staying.

John Watson who would be his ship's doctor and explore the mysteries of the galaxy with him.

John, John, John. _Sherlock ran through the wide marble arcades. Into parlors, opening curtains and yelling the news to the elegant furniture in his mind._

"Sherlock, are you listening?"

Sherlock blinked. He wasn't sure what the right answer was.

"Sorry. Let me repeat that in the form of a statement. You stopped listening. What I said is if we share a heat again,"

Sherlock rushed to rebut that idea. "We will not. I will have control over my baser qualities." He wasn't entirely sure how yet, but he was brilliant and he would think of something.

John sighed. His John. John, his doctor. John. John. John.

John snapped his fingers in front of Sherlock's face. "Christ, listen for a few minutes and then we'll never have this conversation again. If," he held a finger up, "what has happened twice by accident were to occur again, then we will accept that it was something that occurred in the moment and that it doesn't need to have any effect on our working relationship. Agreed?"

"Agreed!" Sherlock bounced on the couch and wrapped both hands around John's hand in a traditional form of agreement, shaking it for several minutes. "But it won't." He jumped up and climbed up on the far couch. Jumped down from it. Sprawled over it.

"Umm… that was it. You can go now. We've talked."

John smiled brightly.

"And I need to go to my shift."

Sherlock beamed at him.

John shook his head and got up. Sherlock followed him.

"Aren't you going to the bridge?"

"To do what? It's still today." Sherlock beamed at a passing crewman, who edged around them somewhat startled. "You know what I mean. The Bakerstreet is taking the longer route around Omicron Ceti III so we don't run into our own scanner range. It'll take us an extra couple days to reach Starbase 139."

"Don't you have paperwork to do?"

"I have Hudson for that."

"She's you're first officer, not you're secretary."

Unfortunately, this discussion was truncated by Donovan making an entirely unwanted appearance. "Commander, I need to speak to you."

"I'll just be going." John abandoned him.

Donovan stood in his way.

He heaved an aggrieved sigh. "Fine. Speak."

She put her hands behind her back. She gaped like a fish for several minutes, which was annoying.

Sherlock sighed, because he had to do all the work. "Your stance, breathing, and the increase in your exema on your neck – Doctor Watson could prescribe a cream for that – indicates that you are concerned that your behavior during the recent incident if reported will destroy the life that you've currently assembled for yourself and wish to speak with me to request that I do not report the exact substance of what occurred. However, the compression in your lips, the slight tension in your right fist indicate that you do not wish to let go of the source of the anger that has brought to this situation in the first place."

"It's your duty as the Commander of this ship to do something," she lifted her chin. "I'm responsible for the safety of this ship. I'm vulnerable to being compromised. I cannot be left in a position of authority."

Sherlock was non-plussed. He'd been wrong.

_He went to the Portrait Hall in his mind palace. Mycroft II was standing in front of – naturally enough – Mycroft I in a portrait within a portrait, said, "In point of fact, you were the exact opposite of right."_

_Mummy disagreed. "No, he was correct, merely not in the precise nature of what her request would be. I don't know how many times I've told you, Sherlock. It is critical not to come to a conclusion before you are in possessions of all the facts. Especially you vulnerabilities."_

Sherlock refocused on Donovan. "You want to make amends for what you perceive as your father's failure." He rolled his eyes. "Get over it. I don't care what your father did or did not do. Everyone in this era has forgotten him."

"But I hate you. I'm telling my commanding officer that I hate him."

Sherlock shrugged. "Most people do."

"I tried to shoot you."

Another shrug.

"You look just like him," she hissed.

Sherlock went very still. The pronoun game was simple to lose.

_First Father whispered from his portrait and the statue declaiming his glory from the gallery above the ballroom, "Don't overcommit. Wait. Let your enemy commit their resources first."_

Sherlock interrogated with his eyebrow. Enough to evoke another explosive response. "Khan Brittanus. People now may have forgotten what he looks like, but I haven't. Had enough little fuckers pasting his fucking picture on my locker at school to know you look just like him."

_"Misdirection. All successful strategy is indirect strategy," another hiss from the gallery._

"You mean until your mother changed your name," Sherlock said quietly. "Moved you from London to Mars, and from Mars to Utopia Planetia." The traces of her travels were written in her consonants and vowels.

"And from there to the colony on Ophiuchus III. I was there, I remember. And from there to Starfleet."

She grimaced. "Eighty years flushed away like nothing and nothing left. Hardly anyone remembers that Thomas Harewood existed or that he had a daughter. Didn't even survive in my Starfleet records." She twisted one hand against another. "Everyone and everything gone. But I remember what I owe." She lifted her chin. Shoulders squared. "I don't deserve to be here. I almost got the entire ship blown to hell."   

Sherlock snorted. No longer able to contain himself. "Please," he dashed away anything she could say with wave of his hand. "If I reprimanded all personnel who'd behaved inappropriately there would be no one left on this ship."

Donovan's expression shifted. "My team has been reduced to helping engineering clean. The galley was terrifying, and of course, someone fucking jizzed over all the sensitive equipment in the engine room."

Sherlock shrugged. It was irrelevant. He'd delete the whole incident now that he could be sure John was staying.

He turned to go.

"Commander, don't think I haven't noticed that you're from Corindium IV and how suspicious that is," said Donovan.

He continued to walk away. "You are the Chief of Security. It's good to know you're not completely incompetent." It didn't matter. There were at least a dozen secrets that could be the reason why someone would claim to be from Corindium IV. He'd implied the more reasonable variations when he'd originally applied to the academy.

The truth being bizarre enough to be discounted.

He went to his ready room to determine if anything interesting might be on their path. The trip needed to be worth something. He found it, of course.

During the next briefing in his ready room, he brought up the schematics, "Since we're taking a less travelled route, we'll be taking the opportunity to examine the effects of Berthold radiation on Omicron Ceti III. We'll be there in a few hours."

"Oh, I read about that one," said Hunter. "There was an attempt to settle there about a hundred years ago. The initial settlement team was all killed by radiation sickness. So the colony ship that was headed out there was diverted to New Nova Scotia, and then they all caught Purathilian flu and died."

"Fun, not fun," said Smith.

Sherlock hummed. "Several probes were sent to the planet, which succumbed to radiation. But no ships were available to determine their fate after," it occurred to him as Dovovan scowled, that mentioning the reason Starfleet had been busy – Khan Brittanus – was counter production to his mood, "historical events. Boring. No one checked. We will be checking."

"We haven't been given the order to check," said Donovan.

"Now Donovan," said Hudson wagging a finger, "Starship commanders are given leeway to explore phenomenon when it doesn't interfere with a mission, and it is just little bit of a black spot on the Federation that we lost colony, not that it's the only one." She leaned back in her chair, "I could tell you stories. In any case, this is the mandate of Starfleet. To go where no one has gone before."

"Someone has gone there before and they all died," said Donovan leaning forward, her hands pressed flat on the table. Lines under her eyes. Slight tremor in her hands. Inference, she had not slept well and had over exercised to compensate. Boring.

"That is precisely why we are going," said Sherlock. "Also, given the rarity of Berthold radiation, we'll have an opportunity to examine the effects on necrotic and living tissue." An exciting opportunity.

Donovan's fingers folded into fists. "Because you're planning on accidentally sacrificing a crew member. Berthold radiation is deadly."

"Because the science labs have tribbles for experiments of this nature."

"They're so soft," whispered Smith to Hunter.

John rubbed his lips. "There have been cases where research revealed that non-lethal doses of radiation that can have beneficial therapeutic results." He looked up at Sherlock, "As long as we limit exposure to a few hours, there should be no long-term effects. It's a great research opportunity." Then he ruined it by saying, "I'll work up a series of experiments with Julian." He should have been thinking of ways to work up a series of experiments with Sherlock.

Sherlock did manage to outline an interesting line of inquiry with John over the next few hours by dint of going to sickbay and suggesting theories.

They arrived in orbit over Omicron Ceti III. Sherlock logged the event, because it wasn't science if it wasn't documented.

Hudson ran the scans from the science station. "Commander! There are Humann life signs."

That was impossible. Brilliant. Sherlock discarded all previous plans. "We'll assemble an away team."

Sherlock grinned at John in Transporter Room II. Someone had stenciled the word Cloud over the room number, and painted the room to look like a blue sky full of puffy white Cumulus clouds. No doubt during the polywater incident. There were a number of rooms that were no longer quite regulation.

John grinned back. The blue of the painted sky around him was the same color as his eyes. Sherlock decided that the cloud room could stay. In fact, he might wish to examine each room with John to determine if the art work should remain.

Donovan grumbled. "A ship's commander should not accompany away teams."

He flapped a hand at her. She'd already assigned two members of security to the away team, Washington and Cho. He was making Cho carry the carrier containing the tribbles. There was no reason they couldn't carry out some experiments at the same time.

Ensign Hebron, the ship's botanist, joined them. The last time he'd observed her, she'd been going into heat and attempting to interest him in coitus with her. _Her eyes flickered between Sherlock and Washington, who shifted his weight three times behind Sherlock. Dilation of Hebron's eyes. Increasingly rapid breathing. Soft edge – floral – Hebron's scent indicating that she's had a satisfactory completion to her heat. Washington's own flickering eyes. Signs of embarrassment. They'd shared coitus. Irrelevant. Boring._

Sherlock took his place on the transporter pad.

What was interesting was the surface of the planet, which was full of lush plants, which should not be possible. Hebron began collecting specimens.

Washington opted to remain with Hebron and provide security from the flora. Thus far they'd observed no native fauna.

Cho looked nervously at the sky. Given her Xi Chou Station accent, look of distaste for the dirt, and tight hold on her belt, she was experiencing slight agoraphobia.

Sherlock, John, and Cho continued down the valley in the direction of the concentration of life signs. Sherlock ran scan after scan with his tricorder.

As they came over the rise, they found a human woman. Late fifties. Squint indicating near sightedness. She was scraping a hoe in the dirt. She smiled gently at them. "Sweet. Visitors. We were wondering if the Federation would ever send anyone out to us."

"We're surprised to see anyone here," said John. "It shouldn't be possible to survive a week with the level of Berthold radiation bombarding this planet, much less a hundred years."

"The last message that your colony sent indicated that the entire colony was succumbing to radiation sickness."

The woman shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. While ago. Jessica could probably tell you." She sighed. "She's like totally old." She hooked her hands like claws. "Old. Come on"

She carelessly dropped her hoe in the dirt. There were signs of rust on the blade and the handle was weathered. Indicative that it had been left out in the rain on multiple occasions. She limped down the dirt track in front of them. They passed other farmers scratching in the dirt or tending to sheep or cows, the first animals that they'd seen. They were all equally willing to drop their implements, abandon their animals, and join them on the trail.

John was discretely running his tricorder. "Commander, they're all exhibiting various signs of malnutrition and multiple of them have lesions indicative of Corvalis, a genetic disorder." He stepped over a rut in the trail. "Yet, none of them seem to be exhibiting the irritability and issues with range of motion associated with that disease.

_In the blue parlor, Sherlock incredulously asked the fireplace with the oak mantle, "Commander?" While in the laboratory next to the gestational room in the North tower, he examined holo feeds of the faces of the settlers they'd seen so far."_

"They're all related." _He circled several points on the readouts in his Mind Palace_. "Same epicanthal folds of the eye." _He gestured at the green highlighting the divot at the tops of their mouths. "_ Same twenty five degree angle to the philtrum to their upper lips." _He pointed out the five cases where he'd marked the image with purple._ "Several instances where the left nostril is smaller than the right."

 "Amazing." John shook his head. "When you say it, it's obvious, but I never would have noticed it."

_A small fire spontaneously lit in the grate of the blue parlor. It was pleasant. But Sherlock reminded himself that he did not have time for such things. He was a thinking machine and his body was mere transport. He put the fire out._

He turned to the woman to their left, who was clearly six months pregnant. "This man is a doctor."

"Ta. Not quite," protested John, which ridiculous. He'd practically just started his course of study.

"Okay," said the woman with all the excitement of being told that John had a collection of Capellan tapeworms and not at all the response of a woman attempting to be reproductively successful while not dying in a remote agrarian society with no access to medical care.

As if to emphasize the point, they passed a small graveyard. Given the size of some of the graves, the majority of burials had been infants or children. He'd need to get closer to know for sure. The woman beside them barely glanced at it.

They continued walking until they reached a small settlement. There were several long low buildings. Clearly indicative of a communal hall.

The woman, who'd been leading them, said, "Hey, Grandma Jess. Look visitors."

A white haired woman put aside the lumpy flax she'd been spinning. Eighties, loss of sight in left eye due to cataracts. Badly healed break in her left leg. "Cool. Hey, I'm Jess. Stoked to see you. Could totally use you here."

"We're here to rescue you from this planet," said Ensign Cho.

Jess laughed. "Dude, we totally don't need rescuing." She held out her hands. "Have you seen this place? It's like total paradise."

"How have you survived the effects of the Berthold radiation?" demanded Sherlock.

"Oh, easy peasy." Jess shook her finger at the first woman. "It's not as if anyone couldn't show you. Silly girl. But, I'll show you. I'm really glad you came." She picked up a walking stick.

Cho pulled out her phaser, nervously. "Sir, something's not right."

"I know," grinned Sherlock. He followed Jess between the two buildings and out to a low field full of luxuriant flowers. Jess led them through the flowers.

She turned around. "Here you go."

"Flowers." Sherlock was beginning to feel annoyed at the waste of his time, when the flowers spat out a sticky gold powder. Sherlock coughed and wheezed. Felt his annoyance drift away like so much smoke.

"My dad said everyone was dying before we found the flowers." Jess smiled at him. She was beautiful. They were all beautiful.

Cho sat in the dirt, laughing. Irrelevant.

John was shining in the sunlight. He had a halo. Sherlock rested his head on top of John's head and hugged him.

"Flowers take care of everything," said the pregnant woman. She dreamily rubbed her belly. "Most everything." She circled her hand over her belly. "If I lose this one, I'll have to get another hit."

"Yeah, we'd take care of you," said a man, who kissed her cheek.

"New dicks will take care of that," said Jess. "The ship my mom and dad came on only had a crew of eight. Everyone here is cool and stuff, but we're all kind of done with fucking our fucking cousins."

"I'd love some new dick," said the pregnant woman. She looked at Cho. "Are there more dicks? Doesn't matter for me right now, cuz pregnant and you're totally hot." She slowly squatted next to Cho and kissed her cheek. "We could fuck now."

"Nah, Cassie," said Jess. "Gotta think ahead. We gotta get everyone down here and then we can really get to some outdoor fucking." She looked at Sherlock. "Could you go get everyone?"

"Hmmm... I don't want to fornicate outside." Sherlock snuggled close to John. _Somewhere far away, as if at the top of a very distant tower, someone was screaming at him._ He ignored the voice.

"Indoor fucking is cool too, when the weather's bad. I guess," said Jess. "But you'll get the rest of the crew down here? Right? Like don't leave us hanging, dude."

"I'll call Hudson," said Sherlock. He tapped his com. "Hudson."

"Yes, Commander."

"You need to..." He breathed in. His lips were sticky with pollen, which was nice. Floral. "Assemble an away team and beam down to the planet."

"Commander, is there a problem?"

"No, no problem." He hugged John, who leaned back to kiss Sherlock's cheek. "You just need to... see this." He thought for a long elastic moment. "It's scientifically interesting. Biologically. Geologically. Logically."

"Oh, wonderful. It's been so many years since I've been able to get out in field. It'll be a pleasure. I'll assemble a team from the science department and beam to your location."

Within a few minutes, Hudson appeared with several scientists. They were soon covered in pollen. Hudson laughed. "Oh, that is interesting." Jess whispered in her ear. "Oh, yes, I could certainly take care of that. Leave it to me. I'll get the rest of the crew down here."

"Cool," said Jess.

John threaded his fingers through Sherlock's hand. "We need to get something from the ship."

"Don't take too long," said Hudson. "Or we'll start the orgy without you."

"What do we need from the ship?" asked Sherlock in a loud whisper.

"Lube," loudly whispered John.

"Oh," said Sherlock. "Why do we need lube?"

"Because turnabout is fair play, and that requires lube," said John standing up on his toes to kiss Sherlock's cheek, before he patted Sherlock's lovely round arse.

"Oh, that could be," Sherlock sighed, "wonderful."

"Yeah," grinned John. "Two to beam up."

They beamed up to the ship.

Sherlock followed John to his room. It was a nice room. Sherlock liked it. The couches were comfortable, but John said, "No, silly. There's more room on the bed. Softer. Nicer." Sherlock followed John into the bedroom. The bed was nice too. Sherlock bell back onto it.

John ordered lube from the replicator. Lots of lube. So much lube. A giant tub of bright blue lube.  

"You're still dressed," scolded John. "Come on. Clothes off."

Sherlock didn't want to have to get up. "You do it." John huffed and ordered a pair of scissors. He cut off Sherlock's uniform.

Sherlock lifted his hips. He was helping. "I'm helping."

John laughed. "Sure." He took off his own clothes. He was so beautiful. So wonderful. Light shining on his hair. Halo around his head from light and how wonderful he was. He patted Sherlock's knee. "So, you're intersex," Sherlock giggled at the word sex, "just like me."

"So?" asked Sherlock, who was wondering when they were going to reach the part where John was going to vigorously penetrate him.

"Silly, I'm just, do you prefer vaginal or anal?" He patted the large tub of lube. "We've got all the lube."

Sherlock had no idea. He needed to focus, but he couldn't decide. They both seemed delightful. Wonderful. "Please, I don't care. I just want you inside me."

"Kay, both it is." He waved a hand. "Wait. Got an idea." He went back to the replicator and returned with a short, bulbous, silicone dildo with a ring at one end.

Sherlock sighed. "Want you. Not a thing."

"Shush. Gotta plan." John lubed the dildo up. It smelled faintly of couplins. Bartholin gland excretions. He pushed it against Sherlock's backside where he kept his anus. Sherlock giggled as his muscles clenched before it slid inside.

"Strange." Sherlock wiggled his back on the bed.

"Don't move." John winked at him. "Gotta plan." He bent between Sherlock's legs and started licking Sherlock's labium minora. His tongue warm and wet.

Sherlock clutched John's wonderful hair and groaned. "S'good." Everything John ever did was good. Wonderful. Perfect.

John's chuckling breath was Sherlock's only warning as John twisted the dildo.

Sherlock wailed, but a good wail. A perfect wail. A wonderful blissful wail.

"Like that?"

Sherlock answered by pounding his head on the pillow. John sped up the motions. Sucking and licking. Pressing against Sherlock's prostate in a deft twist.

Sherlock came in John's hair, which was nice. He petted at it. John raised his head and grinned. Sherlock helped by lifting his hips so John could put a pillow under him. The scent of copulation filled the room.

John grinned and teased at Sherlock's vaginal entrance with his member. Warm. Pushing. Stretching. Sherlock gasped. Clutched at John's back. Groaned. Was stretched. Sherlock keened at the sensation of being doubly filled. John moved inside him sure and steady. His gaze clear as he looked into Sherlock's eyes. Safe. Caring. Enfolding. Filling. Sherlock ran his hands up and down John's back. Their mingled scents growing stronger and stronger, until Sherlock could no longer resist the need to inhale John's scent. To lick at John's neck as his hips moved. Everything narrowed to John's body. John's movements. Pressing wonderful sparking spots inside Sherlock. John groaned his release into Sherlock.

Sherlock bit down, needing to get closer to that taste. Jolting an explosion. White sparks.

Followed by his mind suddenly clearing of the effects of the pollen. By the sudden realization of where he was and what he'd been doing, and with whom.

John was still breathing heavily. His hands were braced on either side of Sherlock. "Yeah, this is sort of the definition of awkward. Yup." John looked down at where he was firmly embedded in Sherlock's body. He pulled out of Sherlock and moved to one side. Leaving the dildo still firmly clenched in Sherlock anal tract. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. He looked at John not really wanting to touch… to admit that… he had once again so completely failed to control himself.

"Oh, for," John reached down and pulled it out. He tossed it over the side of the bed.

They lay on the bed looking at the ceiling for ninety seconds. _Sherlock counted them while running up and down the halls of his Memory Palace in panic. He'd ruined everything. There was smoke damage in the curtains. The mirrors were dark and murky. The library was locked. Ruined_

John said, "Bet you're glad now we had that conversation," and stood up. He went to the bathroom. Soon Sherlock could hear the sound of a shower.

Sherlock thought about it. Chemistry was a subject. Biology also. That's all this was. He said, "Computer, how many people are on board the ship."

"Two, including yourself," said the computer.

"We need to analyze what snapped us out of the effects of the pollen," said Sherlock.

"You might want to put some clothes on," said John already dressed and rubbing a towel over his hair. Sherlock had the sudden desire to touch it, but he was in his right mind and therefore resisted.

He dressed and they went down to sickbay.

"Why did everyone go down to the planet?" asked the hologram.

"Shut up," said Sherlock. It wasn't entirely shocking that the effects had worn off of Sherlock, but that it had occurred following orgasm during was evocative. _Slick. Firm. Filling. Focus._

That John's mind had cleared was particularly evocative. The Humans on the planet were clearly engaging in sex without coming out of the effects of the pollen. It was more likely related to their particular augmentations. Something they shared in common. They hadn't gone into heat or rut. Sherlock had been aware throughout. It hadn't been procreative. As an Alpha, his ovaries were presently inert. A chemical released during orgasm that had a higher quotient in Augments. Sherlock did not particularly admit that John's scent made him want to stop his heart and restart it to beat of John's.

He said, "Adrenaline," at the same time John said it.

He blinked at John.

"You know I am practically a doctor," said John. "Also," he held up a pad. "We still have a fair amount an adrenaline in our bodies."

After some discussion they gathered hyposprays filled with adrenalin and transporter transponders, and went to Transporter Room Cloud. It really did match John's eyes.

Sherlock started up to the transporter pad.

"Sherlock, you have to stay here to run the transporter." He turned to look at John, who spread his hands. "I'm the one training to be a doctor. I have to go."

Sherlock did not want to send John into danger without him. But John was right. Sherlock went to stand behind the transporter controls. He said, "One to beam down," more to himself than anything else as he sent John down alone to the planet.

John took forever to com his situation. Fifteen seconds at least. "Hebron and Washington, are here at the beam down site."

Sherlock beamed them up. They both looked sunburned. Thin flakes of skin shedding on their faces. Washington was holding the carrier. He said, "The tribble is dead." Sherlock looked at it.

The tribble was indeed dead.

Hebron whispered, "We were concerned about going to settlement given that everyone who went there didn't come back, but then the ship stopped responding."

"Something smelled off," said Washington.

This was a waste of time and Washington, as a human, had no sense of smell to speak of. Sherlock said, "Washington, beam me down. Hebron take the tribble to sickbay and return with hyposprays set to 2cc doses of adrenaline… and hopefully you are capable of remembering three instructions, return and dose crew members as I have you beam them up on my mark."

Hebron said, "Sir, I'm not…"

He cut her off, "Watson is down there alone. Beam me down."

He beamed down to the planet. Sherlock grinned at John.

John shook his head. They set off down the road. They made much faster time this time.

There was indeed a great deal of outdoor fucking going on. Oh, some of the crew where playing with a spinning wheel or laughing about clouds.

John stepped towards a tangle of bodies.

Sherlock stopped him. "No. Based on the discussion when we were first dosed, if we attempt to start with the main group, they may simply redose us."

He called out to Hunter, who was spinning a wheel behind the building. "Hunter. There is an even larger wheel back here."

Hunter got up and ambled right into John's slapped on transponder. "What? What's cooler than the spin-y…"

"Transponder one to beam up."

When Hebron reported that Hunter was returned to herself, they continued a very tedious process of coaxing individuals one by one from their activities to be sent back to the ship. There were some who saw the transponder as a game. They were hypoed on the planet and joined the work of pulling personnel out of the piles.

Interestingly, the Andorians did not require a hypospray, but emerged from a flower filled meadow with excited expressions and no interest in disentangling the crew. Sherlock alerted the transporter room that they were free of influence and had them beamed up.

Eventually, they were able to bring each person out of the flowers' effects.

There were a few grumbles of, "It's only been two days since the last incident," as well as louder sobs as reality crashed in on the settlers for the first time in a very long while.

They were still clustered around each other, crying, when Sherlock and John returned to the ship.

Donovan glared at Sherlock. "This would never have happened if you hadn't insisted we come here."

"Oh, sod off, Donovan," said John, like some form of fierce protective pet? Spirit? Totemic divine entity? "I'm not in the mood. These people would still be stuck here if we hadn't come here."

Donovan pointed at the crying Jess. "Yeah, looks like she's happy."

The pregnant woman screamed. There was a trickle of blood running down her right leg. "Fuck!" John pulled her onto the transporter pad, and yelled, "Emergency transport to sickbay," and they were gone.

Sherlock coolly turned away from Donovan.

"Oh, God, Cassie," said Jess. She struggled to her feet. "That's my granddaughter. I have to get to her." Sherlock showed her the way. He stood in the door. John and the hologram were wearing surgical gowns. Jess pressed her hands against the pathogen shield around the surgical bay. Another settler pushed by Sherlock. There was nothing he could add there, but stare at John's efficient movements as he worked.

Given what had just occurred, he wanted to stay.

He needed to go.

He went down to the Botany lab to scrape samples of the pollen off his skin. That was what he was doing when Hebron came in.

She stopped when she saw him. "Sir, I know that all you know about me is the first thing I did as an officer was to go into heat, and you may wrongly be allowing that to you color your view of me, but that's not me. I want your permission to go back down to the planet." She hesitated for some reason, but before he could interrupt, she said, "Ensign Sh'Alaack and her bond-mates were able to successfully complete the fertilization of an ovum. As the ship's botantist, I should be the one to go down to get samples of the plants. You have to believe, that…"

"Why are you still talking?" _Statistics for the failure rates for Andorian fertilization flashed through his view._ "Yes. Of course." She appeared particularly surprised when he said, "Good thinking." It was good thinking. Though he did have to vehemently protest as they suited up regarding her erroneous opinion that he would let something as fallacious as behavior while under pollywater exposure color his observations. While they collected specimens, he wanted to know if she thought he considered Hudson or Doctor Watson," _John, John, John,_ "anything less than utterly capable simply because they had biological bodies, which would be ridiculous. Ridiculous."

Eventually, she waved a trowel somewhat violently at him to cut him off. "Sir, I'm sorry I said anything."

They went back to the ship in relative silence with the specimens. Sherlock left as Hebron was placing the mature plants in isolation bays to find John, who was standing outside sickbay looking lost.

He should never look lost. Never. He should always be full of energy and passion. _His face grinning down at Sherlock. Eyes fierce. Unfocused as he came inside Sherlock._

John finally looked up at him, his face drained of color. "She lost the baby."

"It is an inefficient method," said Sherlock by way of comfort. "It's no reflection on your skills as a doctor. Undoubtedly there were any number of birth defects as a result of that level of inbreeding. The colony conditions would have made miscarriage likely."

"Christ," said John. "I." He shook his head and walked away with hard jabbing footsteps. Furious. Sherlock did not know what he had said wrong this time.

He stood quietly watching him walk away. His hand to his lips remembering just how happy he'd been a few hours before.

The Bakerstreet, as a Pegasus Chimera class ship, had been outfitted with twice the space for needed crew so that additional personnel could be added as they became available. They took advantage of that now by filling empty rooms with colonists, who were uninterested in returning to the planet.

A day later, they arrived at Starbase 139.

The settlers were transferred to the Starbase. Smith said to an incoming Yeoman, "Hannah, you will not even believe what you missed."

They were joined by Lieutenant Hatherley, who was tall and fit. Agreeable based on personnel reactions to him. An Alpha.

_Freezing sleet struck the windows as John smiled easily at Hatherley. The fires were unlit. There was a single candle trying to light the throne room, but the light did not reach the throne._

"Hey, Hatherley. You can sit next to me," said John.

Sherlock glared out the side window at the cold empty void of space, which incidentally was full of toxic carbon-hydrogen grease, while Hudson briefed them on their next mission.

**Author's Note:**

> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/This_Side_of_Paradise_(episode)
> 
> And to justify Sherlock's angst  
> https://www.theguardian.com/science/2018/jun/27/space-is-full-of-dirty-toxic-grease-scientists-reveal


End file.
